Golden Sun

by Whitney Sanderson

  Pale Moon stirred. “Dancing Feather … you came back,” she murmured. Then her eyes closed, and coughs racked her body. It sounded like someone was trying to steal the very breath from her body.

  Red Cloud dismounted and lifted her onto his bay stallion. Dance with Arrows was normally fiery and difficult to manage, but today he walked quietly with Pale Moon slumped on his back. Little Turtle and I rode close beside them to keep Pale Moon from falling.

  When we got back to camp, Red Cloud carried Pale Moon into the family’s tepee and called on Wise Elm for guidance. The old healer gathered his herbs, feathers, and shaman’s drums and went into Pale Moon’s tent. For many hours, the sounds of chanting and drums came from within.

  Dancing Feather was beside herself with worry, tossing her head as she paced the campsite.

  You did not abandon your rider in a time of need, I said to her. You are a true Nimi’ipuu horse.

  The concern did not ease from Dancing Feather’s eyes. I only hope my help did not come too late, she said.

  To my surprise, Red Cloud came over to comfort Dancing Feather during a moment he was not with Pale Moon. Dancing Feather’s eyes widened fearfully at first, but she lowered her head when she realized he was only trying to stroke her neck. I was glad Red Cloud understood that Dancing Feather had not hurt Pale Moon.

  But despite Wise Elm’s efforts, Pale Moon’s cough did not improve. She lay coughing and murmuring feverishly in her tepee for nearly a week. Worry hung over the campsite like a dark cloud.

  Do you think Pale Moon will die? I asked River Rock. I was standing on the side of her blind eye, and I nudged the old mare gently so she would know where I was.

  I do not know, said River Rock. Dancing Feather said that Pale Moon’s skin felt hot. When a horse’s skin gets very hot, something is wrong inside.

  I felt a chill that had little to do with the cold autumn breeze. Little Turtle came over to Wise Elm, who was boiling some strong-smelling herbs over the fire nearby.

  “Grandfather,” he said. “I think it is time for me to seek my wyakin.”

  Wise Elm’s face was as lined and solemn as an ancient tree that had weathered many storms. “It is late in the year, Little Turtle,” he said. “You would risk freezing in the mountains.”

  “I must go ask for guidance so I can help Pale Moon.”

  “You have already helped her. We have given her medicine from the plants you gathered last summer. Speedwell to help her cough up the fluid in her lungs, and coltsfoot to ease the irritation in her chest. We have said prayers for her. We have done all we can. If it is the will of Hun-ya-wat, she will recover.”

  “Maybe it is the will of Hun-ya-wat that I seek guidance from my guardian spirits on her behalf.”

  Wise Elm looked at Little Turtle for a long time. “It seems just yesterday that you were a little boy sneaking honey from my medicine stores whenever my back was turned. I see you are now becoming a man. If you feel your wyakin is ready to reveal itself to you, then you must take this journey.”

  “Tawts, Grandfather,” said Little Turtle. His eyes shone with a brightness I had never seen before.

  That evening, he went into the sweat lodge and stayed there all night. His mother and elder sister brought water to pour over the hot stones. When Little Turtle emerged the next dawn, he wore only a loincloth and his body was smeared with white paint. Wise Elm stood near my shoulder as Little Turtle drew near. He handed Little Turtle a buffalo robe. “May Hun-ya-wat speak to you through his creation.”

  Little Turtle started to walk away, and I followed him eagerly.

  “Stay, Golden Sun,” he said. He was not holding the training cloth, but his hands and his voice told me to be still. He began to walk away again.

  I whinnied with distress. I knew what stay meant, but Little Turtle was going somewhere important and I wanted to go with him. It is a very serious thing for a horse to break his rider’s command, but at that moment I couldn’t help myself. I cantered over to him as he reached the edge of camp.

  “Golden Sun, you must stay here,” said Little Turtle. “It will be very cold in the mountains. There may be danger.” His face was calm, but a flicker of uncertainty showed in his eyes.

  Then Wise Elm spoke. “Normally a boy goes on his vision quest alone, but I do not think even hobbles would stop this horse from following you.”

  “And I would much rather have him with me!” said Little Turtle. He sprang onto my back and turned me north to the mountains. I broke into an eager trot, my hooves clattering on the frozen earth. I did not know where we were going, but I knew this was no ordinary ride.

  Vision Quest

  Little Turtle sat tall and quiet on my back as he guided me toward the mountain looming on the horizon. The air grew thin and cold as we began to climb, and the soil turned to rock beneath my hooves. Soon the only thing above us was sky.

  When we reached the highest point on the mountain, Little Turtle slid down from my back. Then he piled loose stones into a pyramid and placed a hawk’s feather from his medicine bag at the peak. He sat down with his back against the rocks and closed his eyes.

  For a day and a night and a day again, Little Turtle sat motionless. Sometimes his lips moved softly, but I could not hear his words. The sweeping cold seemed to pierce right through my thick fur into my bones, and I wondered how Little Turtle could stand it. I was thankful that he had the buffalo robe to shelter him from the worst of the elements.

  I stood so my body shielded Little Turtle from the wind, but his lips remained shadowy blue. Frost beaded in his wind-tangled hair, streaking it white as though he had become the oldest of men.

  The sun’s rays melted the rime soon after dawn, but it felt like my bones had barely begun to warm before the light faded again. Night falls fast in the mountains, and it seemed the sun had hardly blazed bloodshot red on the horizon before it crashed down somewhere behind the mountains and the world fell into icy shadow once more.

  I feared for Little Turtle. He mumbled hoarsely to no one, and a glistening sweat broke out on his brow despite the cold. I stayed close to him through a third cold night and prayed for morning. Even the stars seemed to glint like they had frozen in the sky. After endless ages, they began to fade with the coming dawn and the sky turned milky gray.

  Yet still, the sun did not rise. I wondered if the world would remain gray forever and no sun would rise again to warm the frost from my back or from Little Turtle’s bowed head.

  Then I heard a dry rattling sound that sent a chill through my body. I sensed motion near my feet. A green and black rattlesnake was winding its way around my hooves. The air surrounding it seemed to shimmer, and I could not have said whether it was a snake or only a dream.

  I wanted to strike out a hoof and crush it, but my legs felt so heavy and my mind was so fuzzy that I only stood dumbly and watched it slither across the rock toward Little Turtle. I managed to snort in warning, and Little Turtle looked up and saw the snake.

  His eyes widened, but he did not budge as the snake moved toward him. It stopped near Little Turtle’s feet, lifting its head and flicking out its forked tongue to taste the air.

  At that moment, the first rays of morning light pierced through the clouds on the horizon. Little Turtle and the snake locked gazes, and the only motion was the flutter of the snake’s red tongue. The light kept getting stronger, until it seemed like the sun had expanded to fill the whole world.

  It was then that the snake spoke. The languages of horses and of snakes and of humans are normally separate things, but for a moment on that lonely mountain they were one. And the snake said to Little Turtle:

  You are a healer, and I will be your guide.

  I grant you the power to draw the poison of sickness from human or animal.

  Pale Moon’s cure is the root of the kouse plant, and I will share with you a healing song to call her wandering spirit back to her body.

  The snake lowered its head and began to move across the rock. It traced a path
like two circles flowing into each other without end. The whole world was full of the snake’s song. It rattled like dead leaves scraping the earth. It piped like the call of a newly hatched chick. It flowed like the sound of water running over stones.

  The snake coiled in front of Little Turtle, and the song faded. Little Turtle whistled the song back to the snake through parched lips. “Thank you,” he whispered.

  Then the snake turned its head to me and its dark eyes glittered. I took a few nervous steps back.

  Horse, you are a healer, too, said the snake, and then slipped away through a crevice in the rock. The golden light faded, and Little Turtle and I were alone in another pale mountain dawn.

  Little Turtle got to his feet. Though his face was lined with exhaustion, his eyes were clear and bright. He came over and rested his head against my neck, breathing soft words of thanks into my ear. Then he slid onto my back and whistled the snake’s song into the cold air as we began the long journey home.

  Two Healers

  Little Turtle rode me down the face of the mountain until we reached the path we had taken from the Nimi’ipuu camp. I headed eagerly toward home, looking forward to food and safety and rest. But Little Turtle reined me in the other direction.

  “We can’t go home yet, Golden Sun,” he said, laying a hand on my neck. “I know Wise Elm’s medicine stores like the back of my hand, and he does not have any kouse root. We will have to find some ourselves.”

  I didn’t understand his words, but I realized our journey was not yet over. I pushed thoughts of golden maize and dried berries out of my mind as Little Turtle urged me forward and began to guide me along a steep ridge. Small stones showered down the face of a rocky cliff below. I could see the bones of a less fortunate animal, who had fallen or been chased over the edge. Although I was very tired, I paid close attention to where I set my hooves; one misstep would be our last.

  Several times a quick shift in Little Turtle’s weight alerted me that I was getting too close to the edge. Without my rider, I would have probably stumbled in my fatigue and gone tumbling over the cliff.

  The sun was high above us when we reached a clearing where the ground leveled off a little. A stream trickled away down the rocky slope. I recognized the place from our travels with Wise Elm.

  A stand of kouse plants normally grew here. In the summertime they were tall flowers with bright yellow blossoms, but all the plants had withered and turned brown in the cold. It was impossible to tell one from another. The precious kouse root could be buried anywhere in the stony soil.

  Little Turtle got down on his hands and knees and began to dig. I lowered my head and sniffed the dried-up vegetation. My senses were keener than Little Turtle’s, but all I smelled was dirt.

  I scraped my hoof along the ground in frustration. If Little Turtle could not find the kouse, what good would his wyakin’s advice be? As I continued to paw the dirt, my hoof struck a root. I smelled something sharp and bitter, like wild parsley.

  I knew the scent of kouse root! I continued to paw until the pale wrinkled root was exposed. I whinnied to Little Turtle, who hurried over to where I stood.

  “You’ve found it, Golden Sun!” he cried. He bent down and cut a large piece from the root with his obsidian knife. He brushed off the dirt and put the root in his medicine bag. Then he sprang up onto my back again.

  I traveled along the treacherous ridge as quickly as I dared. When we reached the valley floor, I broke into a gallop.

  We arrived at the Nimi’ipuu camp by sunset. Little Turtle jumped off my back, leaving my rein trailing on the ground. He called out for Wise Elm, and the old healer emerged from one of the lodges. His face was creased where it must have been resting against a folded blanket.

  “I am glad to see you return safely, Little Turtle,” said Wise Elm. “But I’m afraid Pale Moon is no better. I have quieted her cough a little with licorice tea, but this has done nothing to cure her sickness.”

  “My wyakin has guided me to a remedy for her,” said Little Turtle, taking the root from his medicine bag.

  “Kouse root,” murmured Wise Elm. “It works well for a certain type of cough, one that often comes from tribes who have had contact with white men. I did not think Pale Moon had this illness, but perhaps I was mistaken.”

  Little Turtle crushed the kouse root while Pale Moon’s mother brought her into the sweat lodge. Dancing Feather came and stood beside me. I told her of the cold nights on the mountain and of the snake’s message for Little Turtle. I did not tell her that the snake had also called me a healer. I had only found the root by accident, after all.

  Little Turtle finished preparing the medicine. “Pour hot water over this and let her breathe the steam,” he said, handing Pale Moon’s mother the crushed kouse root on a cloth.

  Pale Moon remained in the sweat lodge overnight. My bones shook with the pounding of drums as Little Turtle’s voice rose and fell in the ceremonial chants. Even over these rhythmic sounds, I could hear Pale Moon’s ragged coughing.

  I could not help but notice how Dancing Feather flinched every time she heard Pale Moon cough. I had begun to doubt it would ever happen, but I knew now that Dancing Feather had come to love Pale Moon as I loved Little Turtle.

  Pale Moon’s cough faded for a moment, and Dancing Feather closed her eyes and let her head droop toward the ground. She jerked awake as her rider suddenly choked again and gasped for breath. I nibbled Dancing Feather’s shoulder gently in reassurance.

  The chanting went on and on as the stars came out and glittered coldly above. The light cast by the campfire made the world seem full of living shadows. A shiver ran through me, although I felt warm and safe.

  Finally the drums stopped. Silence.

  Dancing Feather had been dozing, but when the noise stopped she started awake. She looked at me with wide eyes.

  Do you hear that? she said.

  I hear nothing, I replied.

  Yes, exactly, she said. Pale Moon isn’t coughing!

  A few minutes later, Little Turtle emerged from the lodge. He looked weary. Dancing Feather and I went over to him and blew affectionate breaths across his body. He paused to stroke us for a moment before walking over to Pale Moon’s mother and father, who waited anxiously nearby.

  “Her fever has broken,” he said, “and the sickness is gone. Give her some of the kouse root in hot water whenever she is thirsty. Her throat is still raw and sore, so if she begins to cough give her elderberry syrup dissolved in honey.”

  “Thank you, Little Turtle,” said Red Cloud hoarsely. He looked at the boy with concern. “I know you have had no food or sleep since you journeyed to the mountain three days ago. Eat this, and then get some rest.”

  He handed Little Turtle a piece of salmon pemmican. My rider gulped it down gratefully, but instead of retreating to his tepee he came back to me. He wrapped his arms around my neck and leaned his head against me.

  I normally slept standing, but my legs and back ached from our trek in the mountains and the long vigil, so I dropped to my knees and lay curled on my side to sleep. Little Turtle wrapped his buffalo robe snugly around him and lay down beside me, using my body as a pillow. Though the wind blew cold that night, we were warm together as we slept under the stars.

  Pale Moon was nearly well again by the time of the Winter Spirit Dance. I had learned from River Rock that this was a ceremony where everyone gathered in the lodges to speak of their vision quests.

  I imagined Little Turtle telling the story of the snake who came to us on the mountain. Maybe he would also tell of how I stayed with him through the long days and nights, how I never left his side in the wind and the cold. I did not know the words they were chanting in the lodge, but I felt the music in my bones and I understood that humans and snakes and horses could sometimes speak to each other despite their different languages.

  One afternoon in early spring, Pale Moon sat stirring a basket of dried elderberries mixed with water and honey, cooking them over a hot stone she h
ad taken from the fire. River Rock said it was medicine to ease away the last of her cough, but it smelled like a treat to me.

  Do you think if we wandered close and looked very hungry, Pale Moon would give us a taste of those berries? said Dancing Feather. Long gone was the frightened filly who had refused to take food from a human hand.

  Dancing Feather nosed her way toward the cooking basket, stepping carefully around a group of children playing with their stick horses near the fire. Pale Moon drizzled a little of the hot berry syrup onto a flat rock for Dancing Feather. She licked it eagerly.

  “Do you think you’ll be well enough to ride soon?” asked Little Turtle, coming over to the fire.

  “I think so,” Pale Moon replied. “My cough is much better. I guess there was a reason for you seeing snakes all year—it turns out they had something to tell you.”

  Little Turtle laughed. “At the time, I only thought I had bad luck.”

  Pale Moon’s expression turned serious. “I really thought I might die from my sickness. You were very brave to go up onto that cold mountain and ask your wyakin for help.”

  Little Turtle shrugged modestly. “Well, I had Golden Sun,” he said. “The nights were much less dark with a friend to keep me company.”

  Pale Moon smiled. “Yes, that is the way of things,” she said.

  Dancing Feather was still nosing around the fire looking for spilled syrup, and some of Pale Moon’s little cousins came over to beg for a taste of the sweetened berries. Dancing Feather stood quietly while the children toddled around her hooves, stroking her legs and reaching up to pat her nose.

  Now everyone knew that Dancing Feather would not kick the children or bite the camp dogs. She had earned back every bit of the trust she had broken, and I felt that some of the wounds less visible than those scarring her flanks had finally healed.